Being no longer afraid of the pearl-gatherers, he returned to Condatchy; and as it is a usual practice to search for pearls which may by chance have dropped from the oysters while they lie in the pits, he also went to see how far his present good fortune would continue to befriend him. Those pits are dug about two feet deep in the ground, and lined with mats; and the oysters are left there to putrefy, as they are then easily opened without injuring the pearls. His search was successful beyond his hopes; he found a pearl of uncommon size, and joyfully carried it to the collector, who rewarded him with a large sum of money.
It is easy, dear Mamma, to guess the rest of the story. He bought cloth, axes, knives, and various useful things; and making his way once more to the banyan tree, he laid these offerings of gratitude in the spot so well known to him and the good Bedah—and again he heard the faithful dog growl his knowledge of his being there. He then visited the farmer, and found him in the greatest distress; for his cattle having again trespassed on the cinnamon grounds they had been all seized. The kind-hearted Ceylonese bestowed on him a sum more than sufficient to replace his cows, and it was difficult to say which felt the most happy—the farmer suddenly relieved, or the generous creature who relieved him.
16th.—We all petitioned my uncle to read the Tempest to us yesterday evening. He consented, upon condition that Mary should assist; and it was arranged that she should read the parts of Miranda and Ariel.
Mary is so timid, that she does not like even such a moderate exhibition: she complied, however, and they both read so delightfully, that every one perceived beauties in that play which they had never noticed before. At the end of each act we talked it over; and my uncle encouraged every one to give their opinions, which he says is the best way of compelling people to think.
My aunt said that none of Shakespeare’s plays are so perfect as to the time in which the action takes place, as the Tempest, or displays so much imagination; for, while he seems to leave one at liberty to wander through the wild and the wonderful, yet such is the correctness of his taste, that in this piece he never suffers it to pass the bounds of consistency.
Caroline was most pleased with the part of the “delicate” Ariel. “It is quite charming,” she said, “he is so well imagined: his qualities and offices and his expressions are so suitable to each other, and so nicely described by himself. Besides, he seems so amiable and good-natured to the shipwrecked strangers, that even while we consider him as the artful agent of the magician, he seems to have the qualities of almost a celestial being.”
I asked her which she liked best, Ariel, or the fairy sprites in Midsummer Night’s Dream. “Like you, Bertha, I delight in all Shakspeare’s fairy-land,” said she; “but I think Ariel in every way superior to Puck: even his tricks are more elegant and graceful, and he seems to sympathise with the people he is teasing; but Puck, however amusing, is a wild mad-cap, that revels in his antics, and ridicules the poor victims of his merry mischief. I like to think of Ariel as he ‘lies in the cowslip’s bell’—or ‘rides on the curled clouds, to do his master’s bidding,’ with such swiftness as to ‘drink the air before him.’”
My uncle praised the drawing of Caliban’s character. “Every time I read it,” said he, “I see fresh proofs of its complete originality.—Shakspeare could have had no model for such a creature—it could only be the work of his own extraordinary imagination, and it shews what powers of invention he possessed. Caliban is just what the offspring of a witch and a demon should be: he is a prodigy of cruelty and malice; and Shakspeare heightens the effect by giving him a language so poetical and yet so gross, that all he says, whether in brutal malice, or in uncouth kindness, is in perfect keeping with his general character. It expresses the instinctive barbarity of the monster; and the mind is throughout divided between the detestation excited by such a horrible being, and astonishment at the versatile genius by which it was conceived.”
“Miranda is my favourite,” said my aunt; “I am sure there is as little common-place in it as in either of the singular characters you have been praising; in hers, innocence and gentleness are the predominant features; while the union of the softest tenderness for Ferdinand with her candour and dutiful deference to her mysterious father, give it the most amiable finish; and I think the skill of Shakspeare in painting it is at least equal to that shewn in any other of the play; for the many beautiful little touches by which it is brought out, appear to me to shew more talent than when violence of passion and great strength of expression are used.”
“On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily.”